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He blinked, caught off-guard by the sight in front of him. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for women to appear at his door, but no one had never quite done it like Grace. She held a large bouquet of flowers, white tulips to be exact. Roses were outplayed, and an internet search had informed her that white tulips were the perfect flower for the occasion.
10,800 seconds had come and gone and the only solution Grace trusted herself to carry out was to apologize.
With flowers.Everyone loved flowers.
“You got me flowers?” He took the bouquet with a furrowed brow.
“Well, yes.” Grace ran her hands through her hair, not quite sure what to do with them now that they were free. “I’m sorry and, ah, white tulips mean you’re sorry and you want a fresh start. I googled it and everything. Everyone knows what you read on the internet is true,” she told him with a little nod.
“Of course, of course.” Anton grinned, his eyes on the bouquet in his hand. “Come on in.” He stepped back from the door.
Following him into his hotel suite, she let out a whistle. She had been expecting a simple room, maybe a little nicer than normal, but she hadn’t been prepared for this. A long hallway with dark hardwood floors lined with actual, honest-to-goodness art, led to an open-concept space divided into a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Floor-to-ceiling windows, comfy couches perfect for napping in style, and trendy knick-knacks made the space feel lived-in, not impersonal. The space was perfectly lived in and warm. Not exactly what she’d expected from Anton.
A door in the far corner of the room made her wonder if it led to his bedroom, but before she could investigate, her mouth dropped open at the sight of the bookcases lining the wall.
She pointed a finger at the wall. “You have a library? Real books?” She leaned close, surprised to see actual titles from the likes of Heller and Twain among the collection.
Anton stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the bouquet. “It’s one of my requirements. I need something other than television, or I’ll lose it. Have to unplug, and I’m too lazy to go to a bookstore.”
“This place is amazing.” It made her small apartment look like a postage stamp. A very well-kept and cheery postage stamp, but a postage stamp nonetheless. She turned towards him with a raised eyebrow. “Requirements? What are you, Mariah?”
He sighed, eyes still on the bouquet he was working on. “You make it sound like I’m a diva, but I prefer… someone who knows his mind.”
She smiled. “I like that.” Then she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re a diva. We both know I need to shut up after this afternoon.”
“Don’t say that. I like it when you speak your mind, even if it hurts.”
She looked up at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. “Uh–thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” he said and then nodded at the bookcases. “Those make it easier being away from home.” He paused and considered the flowers. “No one has ever gotten me flowers before, so I’m not really sure what to do with them now.”
“You generally put them in water,” she advised.
Anton pursed his lips. “A giant bowl or pitcher or something?” he asked and began rummaging around. “Help a guy out here. If you’re going to flip the gender role script on me, then I need some guidance.”
Grace grinned. “I’ll help. We need a vase. I guess I didn’t think about logistics when I got the flowers.” She gave him an apologetic look, but he waved a hand.
“That just means we get creative,” he said, moving into the living room. She laughed when she watched him stop in the middle of the room, considering the furnishings.
“What are you doing? You aren’t going to-” she began, but when he snatched up what Grace thought was a ceramic sculpture painted in gold leaf and embedded with glass she knew he was definitely going to.
“This will work,” he told her.
“But that’s art. You can’t jus-” Grace began, but the words dried up when Anton rolled his eyes, crossed the room to the kitchen, and began to fill the sculpture with water.
“Art is meant to be functional,” he told her with a shrug.
She worried her bottom lip as she watched him. “But won’t the hotel get mad? What if they charge you?” she asked, even though she knew it was silly. Anton could afford a simple vase charge, she guessed.
“Nah.” He shook his head, settling the flowers into the art piece-turned-vase. “I own this chain.”
“You what?!” She’d guessed right, but she hadn’t thought he’d say that.
He looked up at her. “The hotel. I own it. Why else do you think I’m staying here?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“I don’t know? Bachelor reasons?” She shrugged and then shook her head. “Wait a minute. How do you just own a hotel chain in Geneva?”
“My family has acquired properties for decades, and my mother always had a soft spot for this city,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
